There are fabulous stories floating around the blogosphere. Stories about BFNs on pee sticks all the way to 17 dpo. Stories of wonky cycles miraculously ending in pregnancy. Stories of infertiles who unexpectedly conceive baby #2 from sex! in their own bed! after thinking it impossible. I suppose those stories come true for some people.
But not for me.
Hope is insidious, and I was still holding onto it. Maybe the evap line I got was actually a really, really faint positive - wouldn't that be grand? But no, that happy news was not for me. The nurse just called. She assumed I already knew the result. I told her I didn't. "It's negative," she said, "I'm sorry." I bet she was. But not as sorry as I am.
I don't have the luxury of a good cry right now. The dishwasher repairman is coming in ten minutes, and I'm pretty sure I need to empty the dishwasher.
I'm tired of going down this road. So very tired of it. I really didn't think I'd be spending nine months straight at the fertility clinic, but here I am. Again.
When we hit the one-year mark, will they bake me a cake? Or will I have to throw my own pity party?
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4 comments:
Oh, damn! I'm sorry.
I'm really sorry. It sucks.
I hope your clinic is better than mine. I didn't get a cake at one year, or at two...but what I REALLY hope - is that you never get to find out.
I'm so sorry.
Poop. :-(((
Maybe at one year they quit with the placebos and start giving you the real meds...? Sigh.
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